The Song of the Silver Stag
by Will Marshall
Summary: This is the story of Steffon Baratheon, second son of Robert Baratheon and Cersei Lannister. Born just shy of a year after his "brother" Joffrey, he will have to grow up with always being second to the Crown Prince, until his uncle Tyrion teaches him to be proud of being the "Silver Stag", rising to eventually become his brother's Master of Ships, and rising than that.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own the characters, plot, or anything else of the Game of Thrones/ASOIAF series.**

 _This is an idea that has been floating around in my head for awhile, and I thought I would go ahead and try to bring it to life. If you don't like it, OK, if you do, awesome!_

* * *

 _ **Cersei**_

"Push, your Grace, you must push!" exclaimed the Grand Maester, standing in front of the birthing bed, directing the actions of all of the midwives crowding around her. "Push, your Grace!" _Who is the one here who has given birth here? You or me Pycelle!?_ Cersei though, She would have sent the feeble old man out of the room if she had not heard one of the midwives say "I can see it's wee head your Grace, only a little further!" With one last push, Cersei felt her child enter the world, and was surprised by how much this birth was far more easier than the only eleven moon old Joffrey.

Something was off though, she heard nothing, no screams of a newborn, no wailing that would seem to never end, only the midwife calling out to her; "A healthy, beautiful boy your grace." Cersei immediately cried out "Let me see my son!" The midwife passed over the small bundle, and there was her second son, her second little cub from her brother, Jaime. Only, her son did not open his eyes, he remained silent, her heart sank. She began to panic, she held the baby close, and began to plead with him; "Please little cub, open your eyes, show mama that you live."

As if to answer her begging, her son opened his eyes, except there were no Lannister emeralds looking into hers, but Baratheon sapphires. _No!_ She screamed in her head. _Let it not be!_ She carefully pushed back the blanket covering his head and upon his crown lay a small tuft of coal black hair. _I was so careful!_ Despite the panicked expression on her face, the small infant broke into a smile and extend a small hand up to her. This small action washed away all hate and anger she had suddenly developed for this child, _her child._

She felt a hand on her shoulder, and looking up, she locked eyes with her twin, and lover, Jaime, a extremely solemn expression on his face. "I was so careful!" she hissed under her breath, "How could this happen!?" "Well, it happened, and there is nothing we can do about it now, save for killing it." " _No,_ I will not kill my child, son of an oaf he may be, he is my child!" "Very well, if you had rather live with a reminder of him being inside of you everyday of your life, so be it." With that, he stormed out of the birthing chamber.

Cersei had only a brief time to dote on her son all by herself before the door to the chamber slammed open. _The Oaf_. King Robert Baratheon barged into the room, a great pelt of a stag in his arms. Setting the pelt on the edge of the birthing bed, Robert edged to toward her, a look of curiosity on his face. He nodded towards the bundle in her arms, she looked down at her son, smiled, and said proudly; "You have a son your grace."

His bearded face broke into the biggest smile that she had ever seen on him; "May I hold him?" Cersei was surprised by the gentleness and care with which he handled the child. "Have you thought of a name for him?" he asked, still absorbed with the child. "I was thinking Tywin, for my father, or Steffon, for yours." He chuckled, and responded with "Steffon, a good Baratheon name for what will be a great Baratheon stag!" he laughed a booming laugh, and little Steffon gurgled happily.

Robert handed newly named Steffon back to her, and when she ran her finger along his nose, he gurgled again and grabbed her finger with one of his hands. She laughed merrily and smiled wider than she was already, noticing that Steffon's eyes had turned to look out of the open aired chamber to the ocean. "He'll be a sailor." she said "Like my father before him." Robert added. The royal family together gazed out of the room towards the black clouds forming on the horizon.

* * *

With the storm, came the fever, and it burned through little Steffon like a wildfire, his little wheezes echoing from where she held him. She would not let Robert take her away from him during what might have been Steffon's final hours. Robert sat in the corner, snoring loud enough to rival the thunder rolling over the city. Eventually she fell into sleep, still listening to his breathing slow down.

Cersei awoke late in the morning, the sun shining through onto her and Steffon. _Steffon!_ She looked down upon the bundle in her arms and could not notice any movement. Panic set in, this time worse than after he had been born. She shook him, trying to repeat the process that she went through after his birth; "Wake up little cub, open your eyes again for mama."

Sure enough, the sapphires shined up at her and the smile broke onto his face again. "Robert!" she called "Robert, wake up!" he stirred, yawned, and stood up. "Steffon beat it, he beat the fever!" He rushed over, peering down into their sons face, causing them both to smile even wider. A knock rang on the door, "Come in!" called Robert. The door opened, and there stood his brother, Stannis, with the young Renly peering from behind his legs, and Jaime looking over his shoulder. Stannis edged forward, stoney faced, but with his eyebrows raised, clearly asking the question; _Well?_

Cersei smiled at him, one of the only times she ever would, "Come forward, meet your nephew." Stannis walked forward, a hand on Renly's shoulder. "This is Steffon" Robert stated, pride clear in his voice. Cersei shifted her son so that the very curious Renly could see him. "Just like father!" Renly exclaimed. "Yes, just like father" replied Stannis, enamoured with the newest addition to his House.

The Baratheons, along with the Lannister in the white armor, came together in a brief moment of love and unity, one that would never be seen again between the five adults.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I do not own the characters, plot, or anything else of the Game of Thrones/ASOIAF series.**

 _Sorry, this chapter is really short, and I might not post anything until I have free time over the summer, so if you care at all about this story, once again; sorry._

* * *

 _ **Tywin**_

 _To Lord Tywin Lannister, Warden of the West, Shield of Lannisport, and Lord of Casterly Rock,_

 _Father, you have a second grandson, a black haired, blue-eyed beauty named Steffon. He is quiet, saving his smiles for special occasions, but is strong willed and stubborn. Although he caught a fever almost immediately after his birth, he fought through it all night, being able to greet me in the morning. Robert is happy, and his brother Stannis seems to tolerate the child more than any other person, it is interesting to see them look into each other's eyes as Stannis holds him, both silent. Joffrey does not seem to understand that the little bundle is his new brother, but I pray they grow up as close as myself and Jaime did. I hope you visit soon so as to meet the newest addition to our family._

 _Cersei Lannister, Queen of the Seven Kingdoms._

So it was a boy, and one that seemed to already have a temperament unlike that of Robert, good. Tywin set the letter onto his desk and walked slowly over to the window overlooking Lannisport. _He will have to be to Joffrey as Kevan is to me,_ he thought as he pondered whilst looking out into the Sunset Sea. _Or as Stannis is to Robert,_ remembering how the younger Baratheon held Storm's End for the majority of the Rebellion while the might of the Reach was encamped outside. _As much as the Lord of Casterly Rock should be a golden-haired Lannister, with enough pressure, Robert will have the child foster with me, and I can groom an heir I can be proud of. One that will do justice to the Lannister name, unlike that monster._

He began to pen a letter to his daughter, congratulating her on her birth of yet another heir for the Iron Throne. _Gods willing, both boys turn out better men than their father, and they will, if Robert and Cersei are wise and let me instruct them in how to rule._

Tywin looked toward the painting of his wife, Joanna, which hung over the hearth, he gently smiled and whispered assuringly; "Cersei's boys will bring glory to our House."


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I do not own the characters, plot, or anything else of the Game of Thrones/ASOIAF series.**

 _Man, I always think that I wrote more than I actually did, well, it will get longer as we get into the War of Five Kings. Here's a Stannis and Barristan POV, it will skip forward a lot in this chapter, because, as I said, I have more ideas that start in the timeline of the first season/book than I do before that._

* * *

 _ **Stannis**_

Robert's second son, in his opinion, was much better than the first. Joffrey came out of his mother's womb screaming and bawling, and continued wailing even now, a year after his birth. Steffon, the babe nearly a moon old, barely made a sound. Stannis had taken to visiting the babe far more frequently than he had with Joffrey. The babe reminded him of when he was given the chance to hold Renly not long after his birth, before his parents had perished. _Before Robert had found his new, better brother Ned Stark._ As he set Steffon back down into his cradle, he whispered to him; "Don't grow up to be like Robert."

* * *

 _ **6 years later…**_

"Uncle Stannis!" Stannis stopped and turned around as the now six year old Steffon came running down the hall of the Red Keep. "Why is father so happy? What's happened?" came the barrage of questions. "Balon Greyjoy has declared the Iron Islands independent, his brothers have burned the Lannister fleet while they lay at anchor, your father has tasked me with leading the Royal fleet to bring them to heel." The boy's eyes widened at this. "Can I come to!?"

He felt his lips curling into a hint of a smile at this, the boy had an adventurous spirit, but only revealed it to those he deemed worthy of seeing it. "And why would you want to come?" he asked. "Why, to see the battles!" At this, his face grew grim. "No, you don't, it's blood and men screaming for their mothers, all the while you have to fight to so much as move. No matter what, you have to get close, where men covered in metal will try to kill you at any moment."

The little boy went quiet after this, Stannis saw that he had perhaps gone too far with the child. Steffon looked to be on the verge of tears. Stooping to be eye level with the young boy, Stannis put a hand on his shoulder and comforted him, "What _you_ can do Steffon, here, is be strong, for you mother, brother, and sister, and learn all you can, so that it will seem like no time until your father and I come back."

* * *

 _ **Cersei**_

"Steffon! Stay still!" her sharp command pierced the murmuring of the party waiting outside of the Red Keep. Her second born stopped his antsy shifting from one foot to another and hung his head. "Yes mother." came the quiet response, inciting a giggle from his younger sister, Myrcella.

Cersei now surveyed her children, her two beautiful golden lions and her quiet black stag. Where Myrcella and Joffrey both had her curls, Steffon had the straight unruly hair of his father. Where their eyes were the emeralds of herself and Jaime, Steffon had the sapphires of his father, that oaf of a king. He was already as tall as Joffrey, and would most likely be taller, stronger, _but not King._ He would do great things, she was sure, he would be in Joffrey's kingsguard, or lord of some extra castle. _But not King, the Iron Throne will be Joffrey's._

She felt a stab of guilt as these thoughts permeated her mind, that she was always showed more love to Joffrey than any of her children, even though when Steffon was young, she would always be the one he came crying to when Robert had scoffed at his love for books, until his skin toughened, and he forgot how to cry, and smiled only on occasion. _By the Gods, I have given birth to a second Stannis!_ She now thought, _Soon he will begin grinding his teeth._ The boy refused to practice with the sword anymore than he had to, preferring the bow, which was just another thing for Robert to look down on.

Any other thoughts were cast out of her mind as Robert and his guard clattered into the courtyard. The oaf dismounted, walking over to his family, Cersei with her lips sealed, Joffrey with a smirk, Steffon stoney faced, and Myrcella smiling brightly. Robert quickly acknowledged Cersei with a peck on the cheek, ruffled Joffrey's hair, patted Steffon on the shoulder once, and hugged Myrcella, though her head barely passed his waist. The party dissolved, as they all went their separate ways, Joffrey and Myrcella following her, but Steffon bombarding Ser Barristan and Stannis with questions about the war.

* * *

 _ **Barristan**_

 _ **2 years later...**_

Ser Barristan stood next to the King, watching as the Princes Joffrey and Steffon sparred together under the watchful eye of Aron Santagar, the master-at-arms. Santagar's calls for improvement mixed throughout the calls of both the Lannister and Baratheon guardsmen watching the duel. While Steffon had less experience, he had practiced when told, even if he didn't like it. Joffrey on the other hand, was lazy, and obvious thought him better than he actually was.

Suddenly, Robert's voiced rang out louder than the rest; "Stop swatting at each other and finish this already!" Joffrey smirked, and tried an overhead chop at Steffon, who leapt out of the way. Steffon's face turned red, and when Joffrey followed with a clumsy swipe, Steffon blocked with his small round shield, and slammed the point of his wooden point against his brother's shield with all his might, knocking him over. The onlookers went silent, Steffon then pressed the point against his brother's chest, and a quiet "Yield" could be heard by the spectators. Robert's booming laugh was followed by those of the guardsmen, and Barristan smiled as Joffrey swatted away the offered hand and stormed off into the castle.

Barristan followed Robert as he approached Steffon, clapping him on the back and saying; "I don't think Joff ever expected something like that! Well done my boy! When your older, I dare say you might be a match for Ser Barristan or your uncle Jaime!" The boy murmured a low "Thank you Father" before walking away to put away his equipment.

He followed the King back to his solar, where the King asked what he thought he should give Steffon for his upcoming name day. "As much as I know you detest his habit your Grace, I think a book on the deeds of Ser Duncan the Tall will do much for him in the ways of encouraging his learning of the sword, and of the lance too. Robert grumbled and let out a " _Hmph!"_ at this, before finally saying, "Fine! I hope your plans works! I won't have some maester for a son!"

When his father gave Steffon the book, he was delighted, so much so that he hugged his father tightly before running off to read it. It took him only a few hours before he was running into the White Sword Tower, asking to read the White Book, with his uncle _Kingslayer_ , catching up later, panting under the weight of his armor. After reading of the deeds of Duncan the Tall, the White Bull, Arthur Dayne, Oswell Whent, Barristan the Bold, and Jaime Lannister, he insisted on practicing with the lance and the sword more and more, which would cut into his precious private time for reading.

But Steffon didn't seem to mind.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I do not own the characters, plot, or anything else of the Game of Thrones/ASOIAF series.**

 _Sorry that I haven't posted anything in a couple of weeks, I have been out of town a lot, and I am leaving the country on monday, so I thought I would post this while I could. Please, leave a review, I love feedback and I want to know how you guys feel about how the story. I'll also answer any questions you have._

 _ **Guest:**_ _Jaime's page was maintained by both Gerold Hightower and Barristan Selmy, it just wasn't much._

* * *

 **Stannis**

 _ **4 years later…**_

"I don't know Stannis, Cersei won't let him go easily. It would have to take some convincing." Robert leaned back in his chair, obviously in though. "I suppose if Steffon himself were to ask her, she might say yes."

"Surely you remember the days when you fostered at the Eyrie, you made a friendship with Jon Arryn and Ned Stark that won you a throne that you otherwise would not have had." Stannis responded. "The Gods know I heard about your new brother enough for me to remember."

"Aye, that's true, but if I send him anywhere, it should be somewhere to secure an alliance, Highgarden for example."

Stannis slammed his fist against the desk, grinding his teeth as he did so. "Damnit Robert! I won't have my nephew become the ward of the Fat Flower! Steffon should be learning how to be a battle commander, the one who holds Joffrey's Storm's End!"

Robert's eyes darkened. "Careful Stannis, careful now! I won't have you mention that damned castle again! I only mentioned Tyrell as an example! I have made no decision!"

Silence, and then quietly, Stannis said "I also believe that it would do Selyse and Shireen both some good to have another child on Dragonstone, their relationship is strained to say the least. Steffon and Shireen have much in common, they both love books, and music too."

Robert let out a _hmph!_ And took a deep drink of his wine. "If it wasn't for Renly giving him that damn violin he be better with the sword."

"I heard that he is quite skilled with it." Stannis responded. His brother let out a bark of laughter at this. "He is, he near gave Cersei a heart attack when he started playing the Rains of Castamere!" With that, Robert dissolved into a fit of laughter and Stannis' lips curled slightly. "Maybe there's _some_ use for it!"

Robert recomposed himself and looked Stannis in the eye, saying; "You have my consent, but we have to convince Cersei. I bring Steffon in and see what he wants, that will help our case."

Within a few moments, Steffon was brought in, he approached Robert and Stannis quietly, standing before Robert's desk without a word. "Sit Steffon." Robert said, indicating the unoccupied chair beside Stannis. Steffon did so, and then quietly asked "Is something wrong?"

Robert chuckled, and replied; "No my boy, nothing is wrong, Stannis?" Stannis leaned forward in his own chair. "Your father and I were discussing my proposal that you foster with me at Dragonstone, how would you feel about that?'

Steffon's eyes lit up at this, and he asked, with excitement; "That sounds amazing! I would love to! When do we leave?" Robert chuckled at this, but Stannis' face tightened. "This would not be some trip designed for your pleasure, you would serve as my squire and ward, and learn much about how to lead men to war."

Steffon quieted down, and Robert took that moment to say "If you really want to go, it will be up to you to convince your mother to let you go, she'll only listen to you."

* * *

 _ **Cersei**_

If it had been Stannis or Robert, she would have fought like the lioness she is, with tooth and nail. But it had been Steffon who had asked her to go to Dragonstone, her one disappointment, the fawn amongst her cubs. She had so far successfully delivered Jaime's children under the nose of the oaf who thought them of his seed, but Steffon had slipped through. The boy had lived through the moon tea and now began to outshine his golden brother. Steffon was already shaping up to be a warrior like Robert, but had a keener mind for tactics, casting his shadow over Joffrey in the training yard and in the classroom.

She had not been able to cast her influence over Steffon like she had with Joffrey, he was stubborn, and would not be swayed from his beliefs. _Gods_ she thought at this point _He is more like Father, quiet, listening, and when he is older, he could become ambitious, a threat to Joffrey's hold on the throne._

So she let him go, this way, he would be out of the way for Joffrey's path to the throne. If he was secluded on Dragonstone, he would become a stranger to the ways of court, with Stannis teaching him, he would most likely become as content with his lot in life as his Uncle. Sure, he would be a better fighter or commander, but he would be just as serious and unfriendly.

Cersei smiled to herself as the ship bearing her second son sailed for Dragonstone, knowing that her first born by her other half now had a firmer grip of the Iron Throne.


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: I do not own the characters, plot, or anything else of the Game of Thrones/ASOIAF series.**

 _Well, here's the next chapter, and the first battle, I wrote most of this on my flight back home, so bear with me. At the end of this chapter, we should be caught up to the start of AGOT, and I like to think that things will go more smoothly from here on. Go Croatia by the way._

* * *

 **Stannis**

He watched from his window as the three boys swam together in the rough waves that frequently pounded upon the shores of Dragonstone, but they were not alone. A young girl watched them from where she sat, perched upon an outcropping of rock, his daughter, Shireen.

After awhile, the boys waded ashore, and after becoming dry, they redressed, the smallest boy, with the brown hair, in colors of black and white, the other with hair of that color in green and red. The tallest of the three donned the yellow and black of Baratheon.

His nephew had begun growing, and at nearly five and ten years old, already reached the shoulders of his uncle. Steffon had taken to keeping his hair cut short, and when he had begun to notice a fuzz appear on his upper lip, had taken to being clean shaven. He had also developed the serious demeanor of his uncle, though he always had a smile for those he was close to. On the barren rock he had lived on for nigh on three years, five people had that luxury, his cousin Shireen, the old maester, Cressen, Stannis himself, though he never returned it, and the two other wards, Matthos Seaworth and Samwell Tarly.

Upon hearing that Prince Steffon would be fostered at Dragonstone, many high lords had extended the offer to Stannis about fostering their sons. Stannis had refused every offer save for one, Randyll Tarly had what few lords could boast, the respect of Stannis Baratheon. This was due to his victory over Robert at the Battle of Ashford, the only Loyalist victory of the Rebellion. Lord Tarly had asked Stannis to transform his son into a man, something he was apparently incapable of doing. The boy had landed nearly two years ago, pudgy, not yet overweight, a condition that, under Stannis' tutelage, had not lasted long. Now the boy had proven his skill at arms, with a mace and chain, he was able to drive most of his opponents across the practice yard, but not Steffon.

His nephew was thin, for his body had not yet begun to fill in, but all of his mass was muscle. Ser Richard Horpe had seen to that. The guards had taken to calling him "Steffon the Agile" for his ability of dancing around an opponent's strikes, until they began to tire, and it was then he went for the kill.

The three boys had become fast friends, doing everything together. From lessons with the maester to exploring the caves that dot Dragonstone's landscape.

Stannis' thoughts were interrupted by the approach of Maester Cressen. "I beg your pardon my lord, but there was a raven, from the king." Stannis raised an eyebrow to his "What could Robert want?" The old man extended the letter; "I know not my lord."

Stannis took the letter, Cressen inclining his head before leaving the room. He sat in a chair by the window, breaking the letter's seal as he did so. The letter was in Robert untidy scrawl, something that surprised him.

 _Stannis,_

 _I write to you to tell you that when Steffon turns five and ten, he will receive the protection of Ser Borros Blount, a set of armor, and the command of a warship in the fleet. Cersei will hate me for it, but he needs to learn how to lead men. The ship should be there in a few days, the_ Silver Stag _. See to it that all is in order._

 _Robert_

* * *

 _Three Months Later_

There came a sharp rapping on the door to Stannis' cabin aboard _Fury_. "Enter" he called out. One of the crew poked his head through the door. "The captains of _Black Betha_ and _Silver Stag_ are coming alongside sir, Ser Richard has seen that all is ready for their arrival." Stannis crossed to the doorway. "Very well, back to your station."

The fleet was anchored off some deserted island in the Step Stones, one hundred and seventeen ships. Half a days sail to the southeast was a larger island whose name was lost to the world. It was there that a new pirate king had arisen, with a fleet of some sixty ships that had been disrupting trade between Westeros and the free cities. Stannis had sailed South to put a stop to it, as were his duties as Master of Ships.

Ser Davos came aboard first, his longboat bumping alongside with Steffon's not far behind. The men at arms forming the guard of honor snapped to attention as the Onion Knight was directed aft by Samwell Tarly.

Once they were both aboard, Stannis told each of them their duties. "A smaller island divides the natural harbor in two and I will take sixty of our ships to enter the southeast channel, while you two will round the island to the southwest, Ser Davos to station his seventeen ships to the south in case any of the scum escape and Steffon to smash their fleet against my force." He raised an eyebrow to his commanders. " Do you see any problems?"

Ser Davos shook hands his head, as did Steffon but not after a nervous pause. "We will then conduct any repairs we need before sailing for King's Landing." That got a reaction. Ser Davos and Steffon both widened their eyes. "King's Landing? May I be so bold as to ask why, Uncle?" _Jon Arryn certainly taught him well, as well mannered as his father is not._ "Your fostering has ended, according to your father. Though his ended only when he became King, not even the death of our parents stopped it. The men also deserve a good time of shore leave, and we will no doubt need new recruits."

Seeing as there was nothing left to say, they departed, Stannis stopping Steffon leaving to tell him; "Keep Ser Borros close, you nearly died being born, I don't want to risk it in a battle." Steffon gave off an irritated "yes Uncle" and turned away, only to snap back around. "Uncle, was that a jape?" Stannis could feel his lips curling. "You should get back to your ship and brief your captains."

* * *

 **Wat**

It was nearly time, he could feel it. The _Silver Stag_ was just starting to round the island, and Lewys had hustled relieved him at the helm. Wat was still on deck, because he knew that it was no point going below. The captain, he liked that better than prince, Steffon was calling out adjustments for Lewys from the rail. He hopped down with a thump onto the deck, already dressed in his mail. "How are you Wat?" He suddenly turned and asked. "G-good your grace" he sputtered, caught off guard. "Captain will do." Turning, he called down to the quarter deck. "Beat to quarters." There came a response of "Aye sir!" As the sound of the war drum echoed across the water, the other ships taking up the call.

The crew of the _Silver Stag_ leapt into action, the archers lined the gunwale, the normal sailors took axes, daggers or boarding pikes, and the men at arms shrugged on their mail and helmets. Wat took his position on a he quarterdeck behind the men at arms. As the men on the forecastle finished making ready the scorpion, the great bolt being set into position, they cried out "All ready" A similar call came from aloft as the crossbowmen took their position too. _The Lad's got them working well._ Wat thought to himself. The crew had taken to calling Steffon "The Lad" in private due to his age, while in public they called him "Steffon the Stern" due to his whipping the crew into shape upon assuming command.

The _Silver Stag_ came around the headland and there were the pirates. "Set course northeast if you please Lewys." "Aye sir" the ship responded with ease, and the other ships formed into a wedge behind them. "Haul her in a reef Tom!" came the order to the sailing master, as they began to slip away from the others. The squadron slowed and waited before a flaming arrow flew across the bay. The signal for attack. "Battle speed it'll be Tom!" Came the order, and the crew leapt into action.

They flew like a loosed arrow, and the hammer began to fall toward the anvil.

"We're in range sir." Will, the commander of archers said to the captain. "Very well, give them a volley." "Aye sir, archers! Stand to!" The archers turned to face the enemy, now fleeing before Stannis' force. "Draw!...loose!" The arrows flew, and from the forecastle came the order of "Away!" The bolt flew as well, tearing into pirates on the approaching ships. "Loose in your own time!" The captain called, and the archers began sending arrow after arrow at the pirate now heading to meet them. "Hit her at an angle Lewys." "Aye sir." As the pirate approached, the _Silver Stag_ maintained her course before Lewys, with the help of Steffon, turned the helm to port, and the steel tipped ram crashed into the pirate, completely evading the enemy ram. The enemy ship shuddered, and then it seemed the as though was made of glass as it shattered into pieces. The crew was unharmed but shaken by the gruesome sight. "Seven save us" Wat whispered to no one in particular.

The crew was spurred back into action by their captain and cleared the deck of a pirate being boarded by one of their comrades. Suddenly, it seemed as though the ships, Baratheon and pirate alike, had purposely made a clearing for the _Silver Stag_ and a large ship that looked to be the pirate king's flagship. Wat watched as Steffon took a deep breath, and turned to Lewys, saying; "Straight at them"

The archers began to loose arrow after arrow onto the deck of the enemy ship, until, moments before the _Silver Stag_ crashed alongside, Steffon ordered the archers and the scorpion crew to give one final volley, which brought one of the other ship's two masts crashing down. Wat joined the rest of the boarding party at the rail, there Steffon addressed them from the railing. "Come on Silver Stags! Let's kill the bastards!" The crew let off their war cry as they clambered over the rail of the larger ship.

No one was left alive aboard the pirate ship, bodies covered the blood-splattered deck, Ser Borros, turned to Steffon, removing his helm as he did so. "Looks like the job is done your grace." Suddenly one of the pirates leapt up, shouting; "Ghosts! To me!" The pirates followed his lead, charging the boarding party. Several crossbow bolts cut through the Silver Stags. Ser Borros reeled back, the only thing preventing him from falling was Steffon and Wat holding him up. It was a lost cause though, for a bolt had been lodged in his head. Steffon wasted no time, shouting; "At them lads!" and leading the charge across the deck. The two forces met with a clash of steel and flesh.

Steffon was everywhere, slashing and hacking at the pirates, easily out classing his opponents, until one pirate, dressed in pale blue silks and with hair dyed white, evidently the pirate's leader, aimed to slash him across the back. Wat lunged at the corsair, aiming to sink the axe in his hand into the other man's arm. But as he wound back his arm, the man turned around and sliced open Wat's chest. "Damn" he muttered, before falling to the deck. By that time, Steffon had turned to face the new threat. "I admit, it is not everyday one gets the upper hand over Miquolo Noterys of Tyrosh." the pirate lord commented to Steffon. "Not everyone is a Baratheon of Storm's End." came the reply. Miquolo flashed a smile. "Oh! So you must be the son of the king who sails with his uncle. I have heard of you!" Then he lunged, and the duel began.

The crew of the Tyroshi's ship had men killed or captured by then, and most of the sailors watched their captain duel the pirate king. The two blades danced across each other, sending sparks flying, it seemed that Miquolo was getting the better of Steffon. Suddenly, the pirate made a downward chop. Steffon raised his sword to parry it, but the Tyroshi's sabre cut straight through the sword, opening a gash in his cheek in the process.

The prince reeled back, in shock. "Valyrian steel, my friend." jeered the pirate, "Nothing cuts like it."

"I'll bear that in mind." Muttered Steffon, and hurled his shortened sword at the man.

Miquolo knocked it away, but not before Steffon closed the gap between them. The pirate swung his sword at the charging prince, but Steffon threw up his left forearm, the metal catching the blade.

The Tyroshi never saw the dirk, until Steffon had sunk it into his chest, piercing silk, mail, and flesh. The pirate king's eyes betrayed a shocked look for only a moment, then it was replaced by a look of contentment. "It was a fight for the ages." He whispered, before his sabre clattered to the deck, and he tumbled over the side.

* * *

 **Steffon**

Twelve of the _Silver Stag_ 's crew was killed, and so it came to Steffon to conduct the burial at sea. They were all stitched into their hammocks, and with the crew gathered around, they were sent into the bay. The bodies were dropped through a yellow flag that bore the king's black stag.

"Miles Harper, carpenter's mate, may the Father judge him justly. Devan of Fleabottom, sailor, may the Father judge him justly." On this went, until Steffon finally reached; "Ser Borros Blount, member of the Kingsguard, may the Father judge him justly." When the Ser Borros' body was heaved over the side, Steffon look around at the crew, saying; "We hereby commend their bodies to the deep, in the hope that the Stranger takes these brave men straight to the Seven Heavens, where the Warrior will greet them with open arms." With that, the crew went about their other duties.

* * *

When his longboat came alongside of the _Silver Stag,_ Stannis did not wait for the guard of honor. He leapt aboard and looked around for his nephew. Finding him onboard the _Tyroshi Ghost_ , the flagship of the pirate fleet that had been decimated, all the ships being burned, sunk, or captured. The Prince was assessing the damage, with his arm wrapped in a sling, and a stitched up wound on his cheek. Upon seeing Stannis, his eyes lit up. "Uncle! How are you?" "Better than you it seems."

"Oh this? It's nothing, the 'Pirate King,' a Tyroshi, proved to be skilled with this." Steffon held up the Valyrian sabre. "But, Miquolo Noterys is the one lying at the bottom of the ocean."

Stannis looked around, "And the butcher's bill?" Steffon thought for a moment. "Twelve dead, Twenty seven wounded. We took seventeen pirates prisoner. I'm assuming that they'll be sent to the wall?" "Yes, a good place for these cutthroats, and the wall always needs more men."

The fleet, which now numbered one hundred and twenty six ships, was anchored at the island for four days, the first three were for repairs and wounds to be treated and the last day for the crews of the ships to enjoy the island. It was here that Steffon reunited with his friend, Samwell Tarly. "Steffon! It's good to see you! How are you?"

"I'm well Sam, I'm well. Took a few cuts. Lost Ser Borros, how about you Sam?"

"Lord Stannis took us straight in, we mostly rammed and burned other ships, we never boarded any of them."

By the time they were done talking, night had fallen, and ale was being poured out. Steffon called out to the sailors. "Not too much lads, or Lord Stannis will have your hides!" This was met with out of tune singing that could only be reached by many drunk voices.

 _Safe and sound at home again, let the waters roar, Jack,_

 _Safe and sound at home again, let the waters roar, Jack,_

 _Long we've tossed on the rolling main, now we're safe ashore, Jack._

 _Don't forget your old shipmate, faldee raldee raldee raldee rye-eye-doe!_

 _We have worked the scorpion, forecastle division,_

 _Winder I, and loader you, through the whole commission,_

 _Long we've tossed on the rolling main, now we're safe ashore, Jack._

 _Don't forget your old shipmate, faldee raldee raldee raldee rye-eye-doe!_

This went on through the night, but luckily, most of the sailors had heeded the warning and controlled their intake of ale, so as not to invoke the wrath of the Master of Ships. When they reached King's Landing, however, the self restriction was thrown to the wind, with most sailors heading in the direction of the riverside taverns or the street of silk. Steffon, however, retired to the Red Keep, where he was greeted by several knights, one stepped forward to greet him. "Good day your Grace, I am Ser Roland Buckler, the commander of your guard. Your father, the King, appointed us for your protection."

"I wasn't aware that I needed a guard" Steffon responded. "But alright, if my father insists. But, I can't have you all looking like a bunch of hedge knights, you need a uniform, how about silver! That fits the guard of the second son of the King! The Silver Cloaks, I like that!"

* * *

 _Timbarney110: Don't you worry, I have a good idea of where I want to go, but your ideas are good, and close to mine actually._

 _Everynameistaken1: Thanks! I'm glad you like it, I hope I can continue to keep it interesting._

 _LadyKatherine29: It is weird, but she seems to think that he can do no wrong. I plan to show more of Jaime in the next chapter (Winterfell)._

 _The Three Stoogies: Thanks a lot! I think I have some good ideas (Though I might be a bit biased)._


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: I do not own the characters, plot, or anything else of the Game of Thrones/ASOIAF series.**

 _I'm sorry it took so long for this chapter, and it might be the last chapter for a while, but I promise to have another chapter done as soon as I can. Anyway, we fast forward to Winterfell, where Steffon meets the Starks._

* * *

 **Steffon**

 _Hard places breed hard men._ Steffon thought this adage thoroughly applied to the Northmen.

The Royal party had been following the Kingsroad for a month now, and they were nearing Winterfell. Steffon took in the landscape, noticing gradual change as the temperature dropped lower and lower as they travelled further north. Moat Cailin had been a sight to see, especially for one so interested in history as Steffon, he could only imagine the Andal armies that crashed against the fortress like the waves that pounded against Dragonstone's cliffs.

One of their guides, a Northman named Edwyn, had pointed out the different features to Steffon as they rode. "See there yer grace, follow that there trail, and yeh would end up in the Rills, breed the best horses in the whole Seven Kingdoms by my reckoning." "And there's the road that will take yeh east, follow that and yeh'll end up in White Harbor" "Look there! Yeh can barely see the start of the Wolfswood, the greatest forest in Westeros."

Steffon absorbed it all from the back of his palfrey, Elenei, a grey and black spotted mare, which along with his coal black destrier, Tempest, had been a gift from his grandfather Tywin. The Prince, followed closely by Ser Roland and a few other guards, would travel a few miles off the road each day, looking at the long rolling hills, the towering crags, and the endless forests that the North boasted. They passed through hamlets, with Ser Alyn Turnberry bearing the navy blue banner emblazoned with a silver crowned stag, Steffon's personal sigil. Most of the villagers did not recognize the sigil, and were surprised to encounter a Prince, especially so far North.

Whenever Steffon stayed with the party, mostly at his mother's demand, he passed the time with his Uncle Tyrion. Steffon taught him how to play cyvasse using the set that had once belonged to the dread pirate Miquolo Noterys. Once the half man had been defeated several times, he began to prove more of a challenge, and had begun to beat the Silver Prince several times. Steffon had also begun teaching the game to his younger brother Tommen, who had shown interest in the game when he first stumbled upon Tyrion and Steffon playing it. Steffon doted on his younger brother, and sister too, but since his return to the capital, his eldest sibling had been cold to him, where once they had played together, using sticks as swords, shouting the great deeds they would do, Joffrey had become proud, and vain.

Joffrey's malice had grown to new heights since Steffon had left for Dragonstone, he bullied Tommen constantly, which in turn hurt Myrcella. It became Steffon's duty to serve as the screen between his siblings, much to the relief of Myrcella and Tommen. In addition, Tommen had begun to follow Steffon around the Red Keep, developing the same taste for knightly duties that Steffon had developed at his age. Tommen was looking forward to when he reached the age to become a squire, hoping to be a great knight one day, perhaps even one of Joffrey's Kingsguard. _There was a time when I would have wanted nothing but that,_ Steffon thought to himself, _To be likened to the greatest knights the Seven Kingdoms could boast of. I will leave my mark on history, but not as a few pages in the White Book._

* * *

 **Robb**

" _Why in the seven hells do we have to stand here for so long?"_ whispered Theon, located right behind him. " _Because it's the King, that's why."_ came the response, also whispered. "Quiet you two, the Royal party is close!" Butted in Robb's father, Eddard Stark. Robb turned around, just as his younger brother Bran came running. "I saw them! I saw all the knights! I saw the banners too!" His voice was filled with wonder. "Where's Arya? Sansa, where's your sister?" That was their mother, Catelyn, looking around for any sign of the younger Stark daughter. Lo and behold, the wild little girl came running, one of the guard's helmets on her head. "Hey!" said said their father. "What are you doing with that on?" He took the helmet and passed it back to the Master-at-arms, Ser Rodrik Cassel.

There was a great clatter, and many horsemen trotted into the main yard, first bearing the crowned stag of Baratheon, then the golden lion of house Lannister. Then the King arrived, followed by three knights in shining white enamel armor, _the Kingsguard_. All of the household fell to one knee. Next came the enormous wheelhouse, decorated in colors of red and gold, followed closely by what could only be a Prince, escorted by red cloaked men with banners split between a black stag and a gold lion, respectively on golden and crimson fields. Finally, the last of the Royal party entered, led by a knight in plate armor that shined like a mirror, with a silver cloak cascading down his back. The knight proudly held aloft a dark blue banner, with a stag exactly like that of the King's, save for the fact that it was not black, but shining silver.

The Prince that led them was a contrast to the first. He was taller than his brother, and was dressed more plainly, with a simple black leather jerkin over a gold woolen shirt. He also sported a plain black cloak, and a sword hung at his side. The second Prince had features that could be called sharp when compared with his brothers, but still had a softness to them. He had prominent cheek bones, his hair was as black as the horse he rode, and his eyes shone like sapphires as he gazed around at the towers of Winterfell with apprehension.

A servant step steps beside the King's horse as he dismounted. The Princes did likewise, but without aid. The King walked straight toward his father, indicating him to rise. He did, and the overweight man looked the lord of Winterfell straight in the eye and said; "You've got fat."

There was silence, then Robb's father jerked his head toward the King's own paunchy belly. They both laughed and embraced. King Robert turned to Mother; "Cat!" She too received an embrace, and Rickon received a ruffle of his hair.

The King then approached Robb, "You must be Robb!" They exchanged a handshake, and then the King addressed the rest of the Starks, his wife and children approaching. The Queen approached Father and he kissed her hand with a quiet "Your grace."

The King walked back to Father. "Nine years, where the hell have you been Ned?"

"Guarding your North for you, Winterfell is yours."

Robert Baratheon waved off his friends formality. He then indicated his children. "My boys, Joffrey, Steffon, and Tommen. And my daughter Myrcella." The oldest boy smirked when his name was called, the black haired one stood tall and maintained his new stoney expression. The youngest two smiled brightly, though the little boy attempted to replicate the stance of his black haired brother.

The King barely acknowledged his children, instead calling for Father to lead him to the crypts. The Queen seemed annoyed at this. "You have been in the saddle for a month my love, surely the dead can wait."

The King ignored her and walked off with a brusque call of "Ned." Father gave an apologetic look to the Queen before striding after the King.

Mother then lead the Royals to their quarters, the Lady of Winterfell pointed out the fact that water from the hotsprings below the castle ran through pipes inside of the walls. Finally, the guests were given time to relax from their journey before the feast.

* * *

Robb was now in the Godswood, praying with Greywind at his feet. He was calmly listening to the calls of birds, the rustling of leaves, and all the other sounds of the forest. Suddenly, Greywind jerked up his head, turning to face a newcomer. It was the black haired prince, _Steffon_. He let off a smile at being spotted. "Your wolf is quite the sentry."

"A direwolf, and yes he is."

The Prince raised an eyebrow."I did not think there were direwolves south of the Wall."

"Until now, no."

The Prince approached Greywind, a single hand extended. The direwolf bowed his head and the Prince scratched behind his ears. Greywind closed his eyes in pleasure. The Prince sat down to the right of Robb. The eldest Stark could see more clearly the scar on his left cheek. _He has seen battle, most Princes would not seek that out._

The Prince gazed at the large weirwood tree. "On Dragonstone, there is an outcropping of a cliff shaped like a chimney, accessible only by the sea, but no ship or boat can approach without being driven onto the rocks, and only the bold would attempt to swim to it. I have found that once you swim the rocks, climb the pillar of rock, and reach the top, you are in a place virtually untouched by man. It is there that I find peace, I can sense such a peace here, but also, a presence of Gods far more older than the Seven I worship. Nature can be far more peaceful than even the Great Sept Of Baelor."

"They were in Westeros far before the Andals."

"Yes, the Old Gods of the forest. I have long wanted to journey to the Isle of Faces on the God's Eye."

Greywind then ran off, he came back later, chased by Ghost, Jon following behind them.

Steffon raised an eyebrow at the appearance of the albino direwolf. "Snowy white, perfect for a Snow."

The Prince received a withering look from the Bastard of Winterfell. He raised his hands as if to surrender. "It was just a jest, a poor jape."

Jon sat down with them, although he had a reserved look toward Steffon. Robb attempted to change the subject of conversation away from Jon's bastardness. "May I ask how you received that scar on your cheek your Grace?"

"I was given this by Miquolo Noterys, a man who named himself a Pirate King of the Stepstones. He proved to be quite handy with a valyrian steel saber, but in the end, it was my dirk that was buried in his heart. He was a clever man, and a fearsome warrior, in a different life, I would have liked to get to know him, but my duty declared otherwise. The 'King's' fleet was destroyed or captured, and my Uncle Stannis seems to tolerate me the most of his brothers and their families because of it. But enough about me, tell me of Winterfell, and how you came across these direwolves."

So they told him about the direwolves, the Stark family, and Winterfell. Steffon seemed to absorb all of the information that was given to him, asking questions here and there. As the light began to fade from the small forest, Robb's mother approached them, she was irritated that they were not prepared for the feast and sent them scattering to prepare.

* * *

The Stark children and the Royal children had been seated together, sharing a table beneath the dais. Robb noticed that Sansa and Prince Joffrey, the King's eldest, had been exchanging glances throughout the feast. Amid all the noise, Robb could see Mother and the Queen calmly conversing in a way that Mother wanted Sansa and Arya to.

It was the first time Robb had seen Steffon wear the colors of his family, with a black and yellow checkered cloak, a gold tunic with a black stripe running down the middle along with black fringe. Even then, he was still simply dressed compared to his brother the crown prince.

The tumult was pierced by a loud, drunken laugh, and Steffon peered up from across the table, only to have his smile vanish, and the light in his eyes disappear in favor of something, based off of the Princes demeanor, Robb never expected to see in them, fiery anger.

Robb turned to see that King Robert had begun groping a serving wench, and had even kissed her. Steffon let off a growl, and pushed his bench away roughly, spooking Bran and Tommen, who had been having Steffon tell them stories about the knights he would read about.

The Prince stormed across the hall, and Robb caught a glimpse of the Queen looking on at him with a crestfallen look on her face. Steffon halted before the King, pulling the wench off of him and snarling something at her that made her scamper away.

The Prince began to berate his father animatedly, receiving only a dismissive wave of a hand before the King turned back to his wine. Steffon spat out another barb at the King, which was met with a furious look, but before the King could do anymore, Steffon had turned and stormed out of the hall.

* * *

 **Steffon**

"It is one thing to dishonor your wife, and _my mother_ , in the privacy of your own home, but another to dishonor your Queen in the hall of one of your Bannermen!"

"Pfft." Came the drunken response. "I am the King, I do as I like."

As his father turned away from him with a small dismissive wave, Steffon became infuriated.

"King Aerys and Prince Rhaegar did as they liked, or do you not remember Lyanna Stark!?"

Steffon recognized the fury blazing in his father's eyes and realized that he may have overstepped a boundary. Realizing that it would be wise to leave, he gave one last blow to the drunk monarch.

"Truly, the Whoremonger King lives up to his name." And with that, he made to exit the hall.

Steffon found Jon Snow in the courtyard talking with Uncle Tyrion. The dwarf turned to greet his nephew.

"Ahh, Steffon, you bear such a striking resemblance to your Uncle Stannis at this moment."

" _Not now Uncle!"_ Came the growled response.

"Very well, I take my leave." With that the little Lion walked back into the great hall.

Jon had obviously been practicing his sword technique on a straw dummy. Steffon walked briskly over and, indicating the sword, said to the Bastard, "May I?"

Jon nodded, understanding the anger in Steffon's voice, and handed the Prince the sword.

With a grunt, Steffon swung the blade in a two handed backhand stroke, a loud _crack_ echoed throughout the yard as the dummy's head fell to the dirt. Steffon turned back to Jon, a calmer look on his face.

"You have my thanks, I needed something to take out my anger on."

"You and me both."

Steffon raised an eyebrow. "Has Joffrey offended you already?"

A small smile pierced Jon's face. "No, it is the same thing as it has always been, Lady Stark resents my presence in Winterfell."

"Truly?"

"Yes, try as he may, my Fathe..Lord Stark cannot keep her from detesting the very fact I exist. I stand as a living stain on Lord Eddard's honor."

There was a pause, then Steffon began to smile, which in turn became a laughing fit. Jon looked angry, and clenched his fists. Steffon noticed this, and recomposed himself.

"Stain on his honor, _heh_ , ...well, Lady Stark should take a page out of my Mother's book, as much as I hate it, she simply grits her teeth and bears through it. My Father has had enough bastards to rival Aegon the Unworthy, though he is not fool enough to legitimize them all."

"Truly!?" Jon was shocked.

"Yes, he has many in King's Landing, and one in fact is my preferred armorer, he is truly skilled in his craft."

Jon was surprised that the King had so many bastards, he had grown up thinking that just one was bad, but many? He had never even considered it.

"Has he no shame, or sense of honor?"

"He and your father may have been both raised by Jon Arryn, but it would seem that only your father developed the sense of honor that Lord Jon had."

They were quiet for a moment, and then the Steffon stood up, looked Jon in the eye, and said to him;

"I have enjoyed this talk, and I have heard that you are a brilliant swordsman, which is why I offer you a position in the Silver Cloaks, my personal guard."

Jon was shocked again by the Prince.

"I don't know what to say, I was planning to join the Night's Watch."

"You don't have to decide now, just before I leave for the capitol, feel free to speak to the others, they would tell you all you want to know about them. I would speak to Ser Alester Errol, if I were you, he is our finest swordsman, and loves to meet those who are also skilled with the blade."

It was at that moment that they interrupted by another Lannister. Steffon's other uncle, Ser Jaime, stood before them.

"I wished to speak to you Steffon." He looked Jon up and down. "Alone, preferably."

The Prince turned to the other young man. "If you will excuse us Jon." And they left him alone in the yard.

They walked along the battlements, and the Kingslayer initiated the conversation.

"I wanted to talk to you about your behavior with your Father."

"What does it matter?"

"You are a Prince, you should behave better than that."

"My father should behave better, he is the King, and it's my mother he's shaming, your sister."

"She can handle her own, she is a lioness of the Rock."

"A lioness who would seem to have lost her teeth."

The Kingslayer gave his nephew a stern look, much like one Stannis would have given him.

"She has teeth that you would never imagine she had."

And with that, he left Steffon to ponder that phrase in the cold.

* * *

 _ **Bran**_

Another arrow sunk into the target, and Bran's eyes widened. He let out a gasp as yet another met its mark. It was at this point that Steffon noticed him.

"May I help you, young Stark?"

Bran moved from behind the corner he had been watching the Prince from. He walked forward nervously.

"It's Brandon, isn't it?"

The ten year old nodded nervously.

"Were you about to go climbing?"

Bran shook his head.

Steffon raised an eyebrow, and gestured to the longbow in his hand. "Do you know how to shoot one of these?"

Bran nodded. "I have a bigger bow now, Robb says I'm getting strong."

Steffon smiled. "Let us see how strong you really are." With this, he handed Bran the bow.

With his direwolf watching, Bran put on an arm guard, took the stance he had been taught by his brothers, knocked one of the arrows, and pulled back on the string.

It never even reached his nose.

Bran could hear Steffon chuckling to himself as he took back the simple stave. He picked and arrow, and in one smooth movement, drew back the cord all the way to his ear, and loosed. The arrow sunk into the center of the target.

He then turned to Bran and said to him; "My father thinks the bow is a coward's weapon, he was ashamed that it was the weapon I preferred when I was young, but did you know, that the Battle of the Redgrass Field was decided by it?"

Bran shook his head.

"A charge of some of the greatest knights in all of Westeros, halted by men with sticks and string. Imagine that."

He drew back, and another arrow found it's mark.

"I also use it for hunting."

"Then why didn't you go out with the party?"

"My father and I do not get along the entire time. Despite the fact that I am the only one of his children interested in weapons and fighting."

* * *

 **Ned**

They had just finished talking about Lyanna, thank the Gods. Robert had moved on to news of the Targaryens, which Ned endured for his friend's sake.

"What about your brother's your grace, tell me of Stannis and Renly."

Robert let off a _hrumpf_. "Stannis reminds of the _injustice_ of not being given Storm's End everytime we speak, I have to ignore him, and he seems to be happy to just grind his teeth at me. The worst of it is that when Steffon came home from Dragonstone, you would think he was Stannis' son, not mine!"

"Your brother is a great battle commander, perhaps Steffon will have his skill as a soldier."

"I only hope so, Joffrey would any war or rebellion he had to fight if that were the case. Tommen is soft as well, but he seems to be taking after Steffon, though I pray I don't end up with _three_ Stannis' That would be a nightmare."

* * *

The wooden practice swords clacked against one another as the Stag and Wolf fought. Robb was good, he had a good teacher in Ser Rodrik, even the worst fighter could see it. Steffon though, he was a storm, a wild wind that flashed across the sparring circle. He was constantly changing his guard on Robb, causing Ned's eldest to make adjustments every few seconds.

 _Parry, dodge, keep up your shield Robb. Keep it up!"_ Ned's thoughts raced back to the Rebellion, when he and Robert fought side by side in great battles across the countryside, bringing death to the supporters of the Mad King.

His reminiscing was interrupted by Robb making a last attempt to over power Steffon, but the Prince made the slightest movement to the side, dodging the blow. He then followed with a brute shove with his shield, and spinning to the left to sweep Robb's feet out from under him. This sent Robb tumbling into the mud. The wooden point was soon at his throat.

"Do you yield?" Came the quiet question.

"Yes, you've given me enough bruises already."

The guardsmen who had been watching the spar now either cheered for the victorious Prince, as the red and yellow clad men did, or looking down at their feet or grumble as the men of Winterfell did. The two young men shook hands.

"It was a good fight." Admitted Steffon.

"Nonsense." Robb retorted "You beat me soundly."

It was then that Steffon turned to Jon, who had been watching from the edge of the crowd. "How about a round Jon, between the two of us?"

His bastard looked uneasy.

"I don't think that's appropriate, a bastard fighting a Prince?"

Steffon waved that away with his hand. "I don't care who you are, I care how good you are with a sword. Robb seems to think you are better than him."

Jon looked at Robb with a face that clearly said "Really?" Robb nodded in response, before handing his practice sword to his half-brother.

The Prince and the Bastard squared off. With Jon resting his sword on his shield as they circled one another. Steffon kept his shield arm in a right angle, but was leisurely swinging his sword at his side.

It was then that Jon lunged, attempting to push Steffon's shield away while stabbing down at his chest. Steffon countered by raising his shield and blocking the strike and jabbing down hard at his opponent's shield.

This continued for a while, both of them trying to break through the other's guard. It was then that Ned could see Steffon have a second wind, and the Prince tried the move he had finished Robb with. Steffon feinted to the right, and then shifted to the left before charging Jon with his shield. They made contact, and Steffon spun to his left and attempting to hit Jon in the back of his legs.

His sword never hit, and Steffon was sent sprawling into the mud.

The surrounding guardsmen were shocked to see the Prince tumble down. Then they realised that as he had spun, Jon had thrust out his left leg, tripping up the Prince. The Stark men cheered.

"I was expecting that sooner." Said Jon.

Steffon chuckled. "Was I really that predictable?"

"I'm afraid so, I could see you trying to get into a preferable position, and I prepared a counter."

Steffon shook his head. "I'm going to have to work on that. I can't let that happen again."

The young men, one a Bastard, one a Prince covered in mud, shook hands as equals.

* * *

 **Steffon**

The day had come, the Royal party was preparing to set off on the long journey south to King's Landing. Steffon was ready to depart, as were the Silver Cloaks. He was beginning to become impatient, waiting as the as the wheel house was readied for travel.

Suddenly, Bran approached with Jon close behind. The boy had a large smile on his face, and the bastard had a saddle slung across his shoulder.

"Are you ready for the journey Bran?" Inquired Steffon.

The boy nodded rapidly, his smile widening to his ears. "And Jon said he is coming too!"

Steffon raised an eyebrow. "Really?"

Jon ruffled Bran's hair and said "Yes, I decided to join you, even though I told Bran I wanted to tell you myself."

The young boy came to a sudden realization. "Maybe you can become a knight! Can I be your squire?"

Jon chuckled. "I don't want to be a knight. Father will find you someone to squire for, maybe one of the King's Guard."

Steffon gave his piece to Bran at this point. "If you're lucky, it could be Ser Barristan Selmy, the most honorable knight in the Seven Kingdoms, or Ser Lyle Crakehall, who was recently named to the King's Guard."

While Bran was entertained by Steffon's stories of knights, Jon was introduced to all of the other Silver Cloaks who welcomed him heartily into their ranks.

"Now, we'll have to get you some nice plate from the Street of Steel, but for now, take this gambeson and coif, we always carry plenty of those." Said Ser Roland Buckler.

"And don't forget this!" Inserted Ser Alyn Turnberry, fastening a silver cloak about his shoulders after he had put on his armor. "Once we return to King's Landing, I'll see to it that you become great with a lance." He emphasized his point by tapping the dark metal brooch of his cloak, a lance, the symbol of his rank as First Lance of the Silver Cloaks.

The more he learned of the Silver Cloaks, the quicker he was convinced that maybe the South would be better than the Night's Watch. By this time the rest of the Royal party assembled and with King Robert's order, they departed for the capitol.

* * *

 _ **The Three Stooges:**_ _Thanks again, I tried to portray Steffon as having a conflicted relationship with his father after developing Stannis' distasted for such activities that Robert enjoys. I don't know how well I did though._

 _ **Sky189:**_ _Muchas gracias! Yo estoy feliz de que disfrutes de mi escritura._


	7. Chapter 7 - The Tourney of the Hand

**Disclaimer: I do not own the characters, plot, or anything else of the Game of Thrones/ASOIAF series.**

 _I'm sorry for just how long it took to get this one out, I got sidetracked with some other stories that I am working on, including a certain Prince of Summerhall. I hope to be releasing them in the coming days, but in the meantime, here's more of Steffon._

* * *

 **-King's Landing-**

 _ **Steffon**_

He sat in his tent, a gold monstrosity in his opinion, emblazoned with many black stags, a gift from his parents upon his return from Dragonstone. In contrast to the tent, more a pavilion really, the furnishings were simple. An armor rack stood in one corner, with a small table and chest for cleaning supplies for his armor. Next to that stood a weapons rack, with two heater shields, one the simple black stag on gold of his father's house, and the other the silver stag on blue of his personal sigil. There was also a blunted tourney sword, and his own sword; _Hurricane_.

"Mycah! Where is that pauldron?" Steffon shouted over his shoulder for his squire.

"Here your Grace, I was just making an adjustment to it." The young man said as he walked from the corner and moved to buckle the last piece in.

* * *

 **-Castle Darry-**

"Your Grace." There was Ser Alyn Turnberry. "They've have found her."

Steffon let out a sigh of relief. "Good, have Jon notify Lord Stark, tell Ser Roland to recall the men."

"Very good your Grace." Ser Alyn sped off into the darkness. Steffon turned and set out to return to the castle. He turned from the main path however, and wandered into the camp. He soon found the area belonging to the Silver Cloaks, and within that space, his tent. Two Silver Cloaks stood by the fire outside of it, and beside them, a peasant boy with a long gash on his face sat as a young man bent over him, treating the wound. The two knights bowed their heads as he approached.

"We've kept him here as you ordered your Grace." Said the knight on the left. "And Ronnel's looking him over."

"Thank you Ser Justin." Replied the Prince before stepping over to the fire. "How is he Ronnel?"

The young man looked up. He had sandy blonde hair, and intelligent hazel eyes stood prominent on his freckled face. His family, the Conways, were sworn to the Hightowers of Oldtown, and like many of his family, had been training to become a Maester. Ronnel had not liked this of course, for he had yearned for a life of adventure, and after forging five links, a chain he still kept around his left wrist, he left the Citadel to seek his fortune. Within a year, he wound up as part of the Silver Cloaks, with the position as the company's healer. "It is funny." He had said to Steffon. "The silver link represents healing, and here I stand, healer for a silver Prince."

The twenty year old stood up at this time. "He has nothing to fear at this point, he will bear a scar, but not one such as that which you bear on your cheek your Grace."

"Very good, keep watch over him, the rest of the men will be returning soon, but I must sort this whole situation out with my father. Worry not, Mycah, you're safe now."

"Thank you m'lord." The boy muttered.

Steffon left them, and soon he was in the halls of the castle. It was then that he encountered Ser Barristan Selmy. The old knight had a saddened look on his face. "Your Grace, your mother has been worrying about you, and your father too, though he would not admit it."

"Odd, though I have been putting out fires my dear elder brother knows full well he caused. Where is my father, Ser Barristan?"

"Follow me."

The Lord Commander soon knocked upon a door and a loud "Bugger off!" could be heard. Steffon ignored this, and pushed the door open.

The King rose from his chair beside the bed with anger on his face, sloshing wine on his doublet as he did so. "I SAID...oh," He turned away. "It's you."

"Yes, me." Steffon replied bitterly. "I was wondering if you had already passed judgement before I could return to say my piece, and I proved right."

"Your piece!? What do you mean?"

"Joffrey was threatening the boy as Arya and Sansa Stark looked on. Before I could interfere, Arya defended her sparring partner and Joffrey turned the blade on her. It was then that the direwolf grabbed his sword hand. The younger Stark scared off the wolf as I got to them. Joffrey ran off to mother at that, Arya ran after the wolf, and I sent Mycah to my tent while I brought the Lady Sansa back to the keep." His father acknowledged this with a nod as he became engrossed in thought.

After that, the King had stormed off in the direction of Joffrey's chambers, Ser Barristan had attempted to accompany him, but the angry ruler had refused this protection. His father then had strong words with Joffrey, and the Crown Prince had immediately known Steffon had interfered. This would taint their relationship.

* * *

 **-King's Landing-**

Steffon now lifted his arm so his squire could strap on the last of his pauldrons. He was dressed in the likeness of his Silver Cloaks. He wore a long dark blue gambeson, and had a long hauberk of chain mail, leaving a coat of plates on his chest and thighs, and shining plate armor that covered his arms, shoulders, knees, and lower legs. He also wore a typical quilted surcoat, emblazoned with a silver stag, and a shining steel armet helm.

The Prince collapsed into his chair as Mycah finished. He made a great clanking as he leaned back and took a sip from his water goblet. It was then that Jon walked through the tent's flaps.

"You look like a knight." The newest Silver Cloak commented.

"If only." Replied the Prince.

The Bastard was skeptical. "You're a Prince, whether you like it or not, and Princes should not be fighting in melees and tourney's"

"Baelor Breakspear fought in a trial by seven at the Tourney of Ashford Meadow, as did _Ser_ Lyonel Baratheon, the Laughing Storm, both my ancestors." Steffon pointed out as he fiddled with a strap.

"Didn't Breakspear get his head smashed in by his brother?" Asked Jon.

Steffon opened his mouth, then closed it. He then nodded and said; "Fair point. But, _my_ brother is a craven, and I will have six Silver Cloaks with me, that should please you, and the seven fighters will please Septon Tristifer." The Silver Cloak's Septon was a jovial man, but had been a sergeant in the army of Steffon's grandfather. After nearly losing his right arm in the assault on Pyke, he had become a septon to live out the rest of his life in peace.

He addressed Jon once more. "Why won't you join us? You don't have to be a knight to compete."

"I don't believe in fighting in tourneys. I don't want a man to know what I can do, I want him to be unaware of my skills in battle."

Steffon held up his hands in surrender. "Fine, fine, though I don't believe we will have a battle for you to surprise someone with your magnificent skills with the blade in quite some time."

Suddenly, horns began to bray, calling the competitors to the field. Steffon rose, and threw his coif over his head. Mycah held out his shield, and he placed his left arm through the straps. With Mycah carrying the great helm, Steffon took the third weapon from the rack, a warhammer, a one-handed one, but still with weight akin to that which his father had bourne when he was young.

The other Silver Cloaks were leaving their tents now, and the seven formed about Septon Tristifer. The Septon held a bowl in one hand and was tracing a red seven-pointed star upon their foreheads, delivering a blessing.

"I shall pray for you, oh great knights, a prayer that the Warrior above grants you all strength of arm in order to defeat all foes which come against you. I hereby bless you in the light of the Seven."

Mycah then placed the armet helm upon Steffon's head, the familiar weight resting upon him. The Silver Cloaks mounted their horses, seven knights together in a line. Ser Roland was to Steffon's left, and Ser Alyn to his right. The other four Silver Cloak knights were Ser Arthur Gladden, a former hedge knight, the oldest of the Silver Cloaks, Ser Martyn Payne, a distant cousin to the King's Justice, Ser James Mertyns, a nephew of the Lady of Mistwood, and Ser Harys Flowers, a bastard from Golden Grove. The Knights were armed mostly with swords, the only exception being the morningstar flail of Ser James, and Steffon's warhammer. Tempest had trappings similar to that of Steffon's surcoat, but they were checkered with blue and silver.

The Knights entered the field and took their positions, their competitors doing the same. Steffon flicked down his visor, his world becoming reduced to only that which was directly in front of horns brayed again, and as his spurs tapped Tempest's flanks, as his mount surged forward, as all of the fighting men on the field let out great shouts, Steffon could not help but think to himself.

 _My, but my nose does itch._

* * *

 _ **Sansa**_

"He is just like the King when we were young." Murmured her father next to her as Steffon unhorsed one of his opponents. The Prince had caught the man in the ribs with his warhammer, most likely breaking a few ribs.

The Silver Cloaks had formed a wedge, supporting one another as they smashed through their competition. The discipline of the formation was working well, but eventually one of their number fell, and another one was unhorsed.

One fighter approached the Prince, grabbing the reins of his warhorse, one to be struck down by Thoros of Myr with his flaming sword. The horse was under control once more, but the wildfire had caught the trappings of silver and blue. The horse bucked, sending the Prince tumbling from the saddle. She saw the horse run to the fence line, where Steffon's squire, her sister Arya's friend, beat out the flames with a blanket that soon caught fire itself.

 _If only my Prince were as brave as he._ Thought Sansa as Steffon leapt to his feet, turning to face an opposing knight. His warhammer lunged, and the rim of his opponent's shield was hooked by the weapon's head. Steffon ripped the other knight's guard open, and delivered a brutal head butt, the two helmets colliding with a _clang!_ The dazed man fell, and the warhammer smashed against his breastplate, putting him out of the fight.

The Prince was quiet, he was always polite with her, seemingly an embodiment of chivalry, but on this field, he fought as if he was in a tavern brawl. He was swinging his warhammer everywhere, connecting with many of his foes. His shield, feet, and head were all used as weapons as the bookish Prince showed that he was truly the son of Robert Baratheon.

Sansa recalled tales of the chivalry and gallantry of the South, and Ser Lyonel Baratheon was known to knock the crests off the helmets of his foes during tourneys. Ser Lyonel's descendent now imitated his forebear, Sir Patrek Mallister's eagle, Ser Perwyn Frey's two towers, and Ser Hobber Redwyne's grapes were all flung to the commons.

Only eight of the some forty original competitors remained at this point, one of them being Prince Steffon, and another one of his silver cloaks, a man with an owl painted on his shield. The Prince and his Knight stood close together, as Thoros of Myr lunged at a nervous looking Ser Horas Redwyne, his sword burning bright.

Her Prince, Joffrey was looking on with boredom, he feigned a yawn as the fight continued. His younger siblings however, Myrcella and Tommen, were looking on with a mixture of fear and excitement as their older brother dispatched another foe.

Within minutes the melee was reduced to two fighters, the Silver Prince, and the Red Priest. They squared off, circling each other like sharks. Steffon rose to his full height and clashed the hammer to his shield.

"Come closer wizard!" He called to the Red Priest, waving his hammer toward his chest as an invitation. "I fear no flame!"

The bald man laughed off his threat. "You will learn then, Young Stag!"

Steffon charged the priest and caught the flaming sword with his shield. He ripped the shield to the left, but that only loosened the sword enough for Thoros to withdraw it and back away. Steffon tossed the burning shield to the side, clenching his left hand into a fist.

The Prince went on the attack once more, but after a few strokes, slipped and lost his balance. The Red Priest was on him in a moment, but showed fear in his eyes as his strike was knocked aside by Steffon's flailing arm, followed closely by his legs being swept from under him as Steffon regained his control.

The next thing Thoros knew, he had a dagger against his throat. "Yield wizard." He said to him.

"I yield." he croaked, and Sansa and her father clapped loudly for the Silver Prince.

The jousting resumed after the melee, and Prince Steffon once more distinguished himself until he came against Ser Loras Tyrell. Four times the two thundered down the field towards one another, and four times Steffon's lance cracked and splintered off of Ser Loras, with only three lances touching the Prince. On the fifth pass, the excitement was at it's pinnacle as the two came charging down the lists again. Sansa was torn as the gallant Reachman and the quiet Prince neared each other. Ser Loras proved the better though, as Steffon's lance made contact, it greatly bent, but not to the point of breaking, while the Knight of Flowers made contact with him straight in the chest, sending him flying to the dirt.

Once the Prince was relieved of his armor, he returned to the stands to watch the remaining jousts. He missed Ser Barristan Selmy being unseated by Ser Jaime Lannister, but he sat next to Bran as Sandor Clegane and the Kingslayer got into position.

"Enjoying yourself my Lady?" He asked her, accepting a cup of wine from a servant.

"Yes your Grace, the competition has been nerve wracking." She responded, remembering her manners.

"And what of you, young Bran?" He asked her brother, who could not have been happier at the grand display of chivalry before them, he had talked of little else when the tourney had been announced.

"It's great! It's everything like I imagined, though I wish Ser Barristan hadn't lost." The little boy had been made Ser Barristan's squire and was enjoying every moment of it.

The outrage following the next pairing, Ser Loras versus the Mountain, had left Steffon furious, he muttered something under his breath about the Martells before leaving them to return to the Red Keep. His mood changed almost instantly smiling and patting Bran on the back as he stood, and bowed his head as he placed a kiss on Sansa's hand. "A pleasure, as always my Lady." He said before he turned and walked away to where their brother Jon waited with the rest of the Prince's Silver Cloaks.

A soft voice spoke in her mind. " _Maybe I picked the wrong Prince…"_


End file.
